#❃ ⋯ ⤳ ch: marc leclerc

[wellsygrahams-a]

♡ ⋯ ⤳ new tag dump.

[deltaromeo3]

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎..? #2 ⋆ Charles Leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: in which the reader does not recognise the famous Monegasque Formula 1 driver; the very same one that was about to change her perspective on the sport and also her life.

— you can read part 1 & 3 here! : #1 #3

A/N: thank you for all the love on part 1! here’s a part 2!! tbh I got carried away… let me know if i should do a part 3? 🤭

— Warning(s): poorly translated french.

"Will there be a next time?"

You were sitting on the balcony, enjoying the Monaco sun with a book in hand and a cup of ice cold sparkling water on the table.

“Ding!” Your phone rings but you ignored it.

“Ding! Ding! Ding!” Your phone goes off like crazy.

You huffed and place your book down, wondering who the hell would be spamming you at this time of day. It was literally 9 in the morning.

charles_leclerc started following you.

charles_leclerc liked your story.

charles_leclerc liked your post.

charles_leclerc liked your post.

Your eyes widened. You blinked a few times to make sure this was real. Why.. and how the hell did he find your Instagram account?

“Em!” You called out. No response.

“Emma! EMMA!”

“WHAT!” She finally responds and you see her head peek through her room door.

You walked over to her and said nothing, instead just showing her the notification. Her mouth went agape and you could see her jaw almost physically touch the floor.

“Wh-what are you waiting for? Follow him back!”

“What?! Why? I don’t even like F1!”

“Doesn’t matter! He’s hot. J-just do it!”

“Okay okay!”

You decided to follow him back and quickly exit the app, locking your phone.

Your phone dings once again.

charles_leclerc sent you a message.

Shit shit shit!

You gasped.

“Emma. He. Sent. Me. A. DM!”

Emma gasps in response. She quickly rushes over to your side. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Oh. My. God.”

Silence falls between the two of you as you both stood frozen in the living room trying to process the fact that the Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc just sent you a DM.

“Well reply him then! Good god.”

“Last time I was this nervous was when I kissed Andre.”

Emma whips her head towards you, “Wh- you kissed Andre?! When?! How come I don’t know about that?” She shakes her head, “Eh! That’s not the point. Ch-Charles! Reply him!”

You quickly type out a response.

You bite your fingernails out of nervousness waiting for his reply.

“Ding!” Goes your phone.

He sure is a fast replier.

You continued texting him. Long story short, he’s asking you out for brunch. You told Emma about your plans and she jumps with joy, clapping her hands in excitement.

“Ooh someone’s going on a date with Lord Percevallll,” She teases.

“It’s not a date Emma!”

“Mmhmm. Sure.” She smirks at you as she walks away.

You rolled your eyes in response.

You looked at the time, luckily you still had a few hours to prepare before meeting him. And like you always do, you went to the balcony to continue reading your book.

You tried your best to read, but you just couldn’t. You were nervous to say the least, about meeting a very famous Formula 1 driver. God, everyone here adores him. He is everyone’s favourite. Even the goddamn Prince loves him…

You decided to take and a nap, hoping it would help you to relax and not think about it too much. So, you did just that.

Your sleep got disturbed to the sound of Emma calling and shaking you vigorously.

“Wake up! Y/N! WAKE UP!”

“What!”

“Did you forget about brunch? Hurry up and get your ass ready!” She says as she tosses you your towel. You looked at your phone. 1:10pm.

“Merde! I’m late!” You quickly got off your bed and headed straight for the shower.

You got dressed in a simple tank top with high waisted jeans, sprayed on some perfume and accessorised with a necklace and a few rings. You put on your shoes and quickly left the house.

“Have fun! And don’t forget to use protection!” Emma shouts as she closes the door behind her.

You quietly laughed to yourself. It’s just brunch, nothing else.

As soon as you exit your building, you were greeted by a familiar figure. He was standing next to his car, leaning on it. The both of you exchanged smiles as soon as you made eye contact with one another.

Charles was wearing a black tee with light wash jeans.

“So sorry I’m late! I took a nap and ended up oversleeping I-“

He cuts you off. “Mon amour, it’s okay. You’re here now. More than happy to see you.”

Does he call every girl he meets mon amour?

You blush at the nickname. Why were you blushing? God help me please.

You sighed in relief, “Thank you for waiting.”

He smiles softly, “Brunch?”

“Brunch.” You smiled back at him.

He brought you to L’Intempo, which was situated in a hotel by the sea. Of course, he requested for the outdoor seating.

Whilst waiting for your food to be ready, you chit chatted with him. He told you all about his life, how he got into F1 and his career.

“I’ve talked so much about myself. Now you!”

“I just recently moved to Monaco. It’s always been the country of my dreams so I decided to study here! I’m studying Neurosciences in Paris, so it’s nearby!”

“Neuroscience? Like… you study brains?”

You chuckled, “Kinda.. but not really. Ah well, you get the idea. Brains.”

He laughs, “Brains.” The both of you laugh. “Why didn’t you just stay in Paris? Everyone wants to go to Paris.”

“Monaco is smaller. And everyone here is crazy rich so who knows, I might end up marrying a rich man. Won’t have to work so hard, y’know.” You joked.

He laughs again, “Really? Who told you that? Google?”

You nodded and he laughs again, “Yeah, who knows. You may be right.” He smiles.

Your food finally came. You took a pic before eating.

@yourusername posted on their story.

Charles offered you to taste some of his food and even fed you some, and you did the same.

The air was filled with your chatter and laughter and soon enough everything was just background noise.

It felt like you’ve been friends with Charles for so long; conversations flowed easily and there was no awkwardness between the two of you.

After brunch however, he decided to drive you around Monaco since you’ve never properly seen the city. He even drove on the F1 track; the chicanes and road markings were still fairly visible.

You sat quietly in the car, admiring the views of the city. It was one thing to explore Monaco with Emma, but with Charles? It was different; he grew up here so he knew spots tourists didn’t know.

Last but not least, he brought you to the Prince of Monaco’s automobile collection. You wondered why he was so eager to show you a collection that wasn’t his but as soon as you entered the building you understood why. There were many cars, but one car stood out in particular.

You shot him a look. “Ah so this is why you were so excited to bring me here?”

He smiles, “Yes! Look, it’s my car.” He gleams with excitement. “I had my first victory and pole position with this!” He explains. Although you had zero interest in Formula 1, hearing his excitement when he was explaining to you about his car was heartwarming. And so, you listened despite not knowing anything about F1.

You smiled as he was explaining, it was cute. You’ve never seen someone so proud of their achievements.

“That’s so cool! So you gave it to the Prince?”

He nods. “I know it’s in good hands so I’m okay with that.”

It was around 630ish when the “date” (can you call it that?) was over. He drops you off in front of your apartment building. When you wanted to exit the car, you realised Charles was rushing over to your side to open the door for you.

“When you’re with me you don’t open doors! I’ll do it.”He says and you laugh at his antics.

He even walked you to your door.

“I’m kinda sad this is over.” He says.

“Well… me too. I had fun.” You smiled.

He smiles back, “Moi aussi. me too. He pauses. “Y aura-t-il une prochaine fois? Will there be a next time?” He asks.

“Why? Voulez vous qu’il y ait une prochaine fois? Do you want there to be a next time? ”

“Oui. Yes." He shyly admits.

“D’accord. Okay. I’ll see you next time then, Lord Perceval.” You teased him with the nickname. “Text me when you’re homed?”

He chuckles. “D’accord.” He walks off and you take out your keys to unlock the front door, but suddenly you were stopped halfway.

“Here,” He passes you his phone, it was opened to his number pad. “I almost forgot.”

You laughed and keyed in your number. “Ok, I’ll go now.” He waves goodbye and leaves.

You entered your apartment to be greeted by Emma cooking dinner.

“Wow finally. Thought you’d never come home! So, how’s the date?”

“It’s not a date!” You exclaimed.

Emma laughs at your reaction, “Okay, how’s brunch that went on for 5 hours?” She corrects herself.

“Good, we-“ You were interrupted by your phone ringing. It was an unknown number. You answered it, only to be greeted by a familiar voice.

“Hello, it’s Charles. I’m on my way home.”

You chuckled, “Hello, Charles. Are you driving and calling me at the same time?”

“Ye- No! I’m… not.” He lies. “Okay, I am. I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”

You blushed, “Charles… it’s dangerous! Just call me when you’re home okay?”

You hear him giggle, “Okay mon amour. I’ll call you in 10.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” The line ends.

“I’ll be waiting for youuu,” Emma mocks you, and you cringed, covering your face, asking her to stop. She just replies with laughter. “Glad you had fun with Mr F1 driver. Your wag era is coming soon I can smell it!” She jokes.

“Oh god,” You laughed, walking away to the bathroom to take a shower.

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 1

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

Ch. 1 Warnings: Language; vampire blood violence

2023

“Now, remember,” Xavier Marcos Padros instructed. “Señor Leclerc is a very important client of this firm. His family has been with us for nearly 100 years, and we don’t want to cast a poor impression on the newest generation.”

“No, sir.” You agreed, nodding at your boss.

“That is why I want you to personally oversee the meeting.” The lawyer continued. “There is no other paralegal that I trust more with the closure of his documentation. The paperwork has already been signed by his grandfather, and Señor Leclerc just needs a witnessed signature to complete the transfer of estates and power of attorney to his name.”

“Yes, sir.” You bit back an irritated sigh, listening for the third time as your boss explained the situation. As if you haven’t already spent long hours and late nights preparing the Leclerc account paperwork for the all-important transfer and supporting the grandfather’s witnessed signature process. 

“Your work on this family case continues to impress, and I’m confident that you will represent our firm proudly.” He paused to consult his notes. “Now, Señor Leclerc has been arranged for 2100 hrs tomorrow night at his personal request.” He looked back at you unashamedly. “I assume that time won’t be a problem for you.”

Even now, your boss’ haughty words still gnaw at you. Just because the man is a senior partner in one of the world’s most prestigious law firms and you’re fortunate enough to be on his team of paralegals doesn’t mean that you’re not entitled to a life of your own outside of work. All of your clients are wealthy and successful and privileged, and you see no reason why Señor Leclerc should be treated any differently.

But at the end of the day, part of your job is client satisfaction, and your boss won’t hear of you inconveniencing a client, no matter their assets. That’s why you’re still at your desk despite the clock reading 2051 hrs. That’s why you’re still in your pristine business suit and heels while the rest of the building grows dark and empty around you. That’s why the executive conference room table contains the spread of the various official forms for Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, III to sign upon his arrival.

You exhale another sigh as you casually scroll through the newsfeed on your phone, skimming headlines and associated ledes.

DESPITE ALL ODDS, BRANGELINA BACK TOGETHER

Earlier this year saw the return of Bennifer, and now, fans are stunned at the return of Brangelina. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt famously wed in 2014, and Jolie filed for divorce from Pitt just two years later. The divorce proceedings have been anything but amiable, and despite the divorce never being legally finalized, it appears that may no longer be needed…

FAMOUS RAPHAEL, DA VINCI PAINTINGS MISSING SINCE WWII TURN UP IN BELGIAN HOME

Among the scores of artwork lost during the chaos and destruction of WWII, two of the most famous pieces have finally resurfaced after more than 75 years. Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Man and da Vinci’s Lady with an Ermine were last seen at the Wawel Castle in 1945, at the home of Hans Frank, who Hitler appointed as governor of the General Government in Poland. The Belgian businessman now in possession of these classic masterpieces has come under investigation as authorities seek to understand how the artwork came into his custody. Historians value the Portrait of a Young Man and the Lady with an Ermine at over €500 million and €300 million, respectively…

STAR WARS FANS SPOT LIGHTSABER-LIKE OBJECT ON MARS SURFACE IN NEW NASA PICTURES

New photos released by NASA show an object on the surface of Mars, looking like a lightsaber from the iconic Star Wars series. Despite its appearance, this mysterious item is actually a titanium tube containing a rock sample that rests on the Red Planet’s surface…

You glance at the time, not willing to risk being late, and set your phone down. Smoothing the drape of your suit jacket and matching skirt, your heels echo off the marble as you walk down the empty corridor. The elevator ding breaks the silence, and you glance out over the Monaco skyline as you descend to the front lobby.

With two minutes to spare, you offer a nod in silent greeting to the night guard on duty at the front desk and come to a stop just inside the tall, glass doors. You keep a keen eye on the street for the approach of a dark sedan or SUV, something that won’t be easy to see in the glow of streetlights. But that’s not the vehicle that pulls up to the front kerb.

Actually, you don’t know what kind of vehicle it is, but the vintage bright cherry red sports car is impossible to miss. It screams elegant taste and wicked speed, and with the convertible top down, it puts the driver on full display. His pale skin stands out immediately against the cut of his black suit and as he exits the car, closing the door behind him, it’s a devastating combination. Or, perhaps, it’s just the expertly tailored lines of his suit or the rakish sweep of his brunette hair or the mercurial glow in his green eyes.

You may spend your life catering to the ultra-wealthy and well-dressed, but this man is truly in a league of his own.

Forcing a swallow and hoping your cheeks aren’t too flushed, you step forward to push open the front door. “Good evening, Mr. Leclerc. Welcome.”

He nods, offering a polite smile as he steps inside. “Thank you. And thank you for taking this meeting so late.” His crisp dress shoes echo off the marble in tandem with your footsteps. “Xavi’s office has always been gracious to accommodate my chaotic schedule.”

You nod gently even though his words give you pause. Nothing about him looks chaotic, whether in the details of his appearance or his calm, collected demeanor. In fact, he looks crisp and polished, as if his day has just started. Pushing the thought aside, you guide him towards the elevator lobby. “Of course, sir.” You say as you press the ascent button. “We’re always happy to work with our clients to assure their needs are met.”

“An admirable sentiment.” The corner of Leclerc’s mouth lifts as he motions you first into the elevator. “I think you are new to Xavi’s team as we have not met before, no?”

Your cheeks blush full red hot as you realize your breach of etiquette. “Oh, goodness – yes, I… apologies for not introducing myself.” You give your name and extend your hand which he politely accepts. Immediately, the firmness of his grip, the softness of his skin, and the chilly temperature against your own strikes you.

His eyes glitter under the elevator’s overhead lights. “Pleased to meet you. You already know this, but I’m Charles Leclerc, III. Though, Charles or ‘Charles’ is just fine.”

Even after letting go of his hand, the phantom chill still lingers on your skin. It’s not a particularly cool night outside, as evidenced by the open cockpit of his car, and you can’t put your finger on why his skin should be so chilly. 

He must sense your confusion because a small, sheepish smile comes to his handsome face as he rests a hand in his trousers’ pocket. “I apologize if my cold fingers surprised you… I should have warned you before that I’m cold blooded. I never can seem to get warm.”

“Oh no, please,” you say with a reassuring smile despite the heat rushing to your cheeks and the quickening of your heartbeat as the elevator dings. “You don’t need to apologize – I was just wondering if I could offer you some warm tea.” The words roll off your tongue as you step out of the elevator with him close behind. Thinking on your feet is a key part of your job even if it stresses you out.

“That’s not necessary, though I do appreciate your concern. And you needn’t worry or be so nervous.” He flashes a hint of a teasing, yet reassuring smirk. “I’m not going to give Xavi a poor report about you this evening.”

Your eyes go wide, and you hate that he’s so perceptive. Pushing open the door to the executive conference room, you exhale a gentle sigh. “Thank you, I… I-I’m sorry that you felt the need to say something. I will work to improve in the future.”

“No need.” He shakes his head shortly. “My grandfather says that I unnerve people, so that is something I am also working to improve.”

Is that what it is? Right from his opening comment on chaotic schedules to the chill of his skin, something about him has set you off-balance. You can’t even recall the last time that you forgot to introduce yourself in a business meeting, and yet tonight… tonight is quickly devolving into a night you want to drown with a bottle of wine.

You can’t find an immediate answer, instead turning your attention to the spread of paperwork on the table. “If you’d like to be seated, I have everything arranged for you here.” You watch him move around the table on silent footsteps and fold elegantly into a plush chair as you continue. “I understand that you previously had the opportunity to review the transfer of estates, accounts, and power of attorney paperwork prior to your grandfather signing.”

He nods in confirmation. “Yes, and everything was as expected.”

You nod in return as you motion at the pen resting alongside the first form. “Then, please, feel free to confirm the versions signed by your grandfather align with your understanding prior to signing.”

Stepping back to allow him a modicum of privacy, you fold your hands in front of your jacket and quietly wait. Instead of hideous fluorescent lights, the can ceiling lights emit a soft golden glow that plays handsomely off the tint of his hair and highlights the elegance of his fingers as he traces the words on the paper.

You’ve never met the grandfather – the original Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc – confined as he is in an exclusive care facility, and the paperwork provides few clues about how he amassed his vast fortune. He became a client in 1946 after rising to wealthy prominence and only continued to add to this fortune and collection of estates. His son - Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, II – passed away after a long battle with illness, leaving only his son – the man now seated at the conference table – as the sole heir. But where are the wives and mothers in all of this family business? Are the Leclercs truly so old-fashioned as to only let the men inherit the estates and conduct family business?

Of course, it’s all no business of yours whatsoever. Europe still harbors its pockets of aristocratic thought, and your job isn’t to judge them for it.

Your train of thought derails as you watch Charles reach into the interior pocket of his suit jacket. He withdraws a sleek, black capped pen with gold accents and deftly unscrews the cap. Glancing up at you, he offers another cute, almost shy smile. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a little old-school,” he says as a gleaming gold fountain tip comes into view. “Ball point pens just aren’t as artistically satisfying.”

His signature isn’t the neatest that you’ve ever seen. In fact, next to his grandfather’s, it’s downright illegible aside from the leading C and L. For someone who shuns ball point pens in favor of artistry, you’re surprised that his signature is so… unremarkable.

Wetting your top lip, you take a breath. “If I may… are you an artist, sir?”

The corner of his mouth lifts – whether with amusement or a more private sentiment, you can’t tell. “I have certainly studied art,” he says as he continues to scan and sign the array of papers. “I suppose one could call me a collector of art, but while I claim paltry skill with a brush, I do favor myself for having an appreciation of beautiful pieces.”

Admittedly, understanding the art of art isn’t something you pride yourself on. You appreciate museums and the history they hold, but you’re not all that familiar with art history or defining characteristics of art over the centuries. Slowly, you nod as he recaps the pen. “It sounds like you would have seen a lot of interesting pieces over the course of your studies.”

His eyes flash with something you can’t place – something predatory, something fond, something satisfying. “Yes,” he says at length as he rises. “I have seen much, with much still left yet to see.”

All at once, you remember the late evening hour. “Of course, sir, please – I don’t mean to keep you any longer than you need.”

“It’s no trouble, and your curiosity is not unwelcome.” A charming smile warms his face. “Actually, it’s flattering that despite this suit you would still consider me to be an artist.”

Your brow furrows as a confused smile slants the corner of your mouth. “Artists come in all shapes and sizes, don’t they? Just because you’re not starving and dressed in rags doesn’t mean that you couldn’t be an artist.”

“Art is what we make of it, non? As are those who create it.” He steps towards you and the door, offering the clumsiest attempt at a wink you’ve ever seen. “And that is for each of us to decide.”

Maybe it’s the sonorous tone of his voice or the light glinting in his green – or grey? Or hazel? – eyes, but you can’t look away. He’s utterly gorgeous and your body heats up in appreciation of this handsome man standing before you. The scent of cedar, citrus and earth reaches your nose – and fuck, how did you not notice his cologne earlier? It entrances you, and the longer you hold his gaze, the more you feel yourself floating…

Until he blinks away and motions towards the door. “After you.”

Shaking from your stupor, another embarrassed flush stains your cheeks as you move towards the elevator. He’s hardly the first supremely attractive man that you’ve interacted with on this job, but none of them have rendered you so stupid before.

“My grandfather says that I unnerve people, so that is something I am also working to improve.”

You brush the memory of his earlier words aside, swallowing your unease as you search for something to say. “Thank you again for coming by this evening.” You finally say, sticking to the safe topic at hand. “I’ll file the paperwork in the morning, and Señor Padros will be in touch if there are any unforeseen complications with the transfer.”

“I have complete faith in Xavi, and you, by extension.” Charles says breezily as you both step into the elevator. “He has served my grandfather well, and no doubt, will continue to serve me well in his stead.”

The odd choice of words strikes you. You don’t consider yourself in the service industry and you’re pretty sure that your boss doesn’t consider himself a servant to the wealthy elite, but maybe it’s just another indicator of how old-school this young man next to you truly is.  

“As always, we appreciate your support and business.” You say on professional reflex, despite the distracting scent of Charles’ cologne that you can’t stop noticing. “I will be sure to pass along your reassurance to Señor Padros.”

“Again, there is no need.” He flashes another reassuring smile as the elevator doors open to the main lobby. “I owe Xavi a visit soon to discuss further matters and I will gladly tell him in person.”

His words beg further questions in your mind but you know better than to ask. Whatever relationship he has with your boss – professional or otherwise – is also certainly none of your business.

Your heels click to a stop near the front door and he pauses beside you. With a bow of his head, he holds your gaze as he speaks. “Thank you again for accommodating such a late meeting. It’s been an unexpected pleasure.”

“Thank you, sir. You, too.” You nod in thanks as he turns for the door. “I hope that you have a good rest of your evening.”

His mouth slants with a wicked grin as he pushes out into the dark night. “Of course. I’m just getting started, after all.”

A shiver crawls down your spine as he saunters up to his red car and sinks down into the plush leather seating. The glass building façade muffles the revving engine, but as he shoots off into the night, you’re left with more questions than answers.

Sighing deep, you offer a good night wave to the front desk guard, focused only on getting your bag and going home. The trip back to your desk and down to the parking garage passes in a familiar blur only broken when the elevator doors ding open. Yellow light from the sodium-vapor lamps paint the concrete surroundings in a hideous, monochromatic glow. Even through the glass doors of the elevator lobby, the ubiquitous buzzing of the light fixtures can still be heard. But it’s the frustrated groans of a tall, slender man carrying a box piled high with file folders and trying to pull the doors open that draws your attention.

“Here,” you say in greeting, offering a friendly smile as you step up to assist with the door handle. “It looks like you’ve got your arms full – literally.”

“Oh, thank you.” The man turns brilliant, blinding blue eyes on you and a megawatt smile around his posh British syllables. “You have no idea just how heavy this box is.”

You hold the door open for him as he steps through, maneuvering the box and his messenger bag through the opening. “You’re welcome. Do you have a big case ahead?”

“Yeah,” he says with a nod as the door closes behind you. “Boss needs recommendations by noon tomorrow and I’m so far behind.”

“Ugh,” you groan in commiseration. “I’ve been there, too – it can be so fast-paced sometimes. Who’s your boss?”

“Musconi. He’s not one of the senior partners or anything – not like Padros or Bonnington – but, well, I’ve only been here for a few weeks, so I’m still learning. I’m George Russell, by the way. I’d offer you my hand, but well…” He shrugs and flashes another handsome smile as he hefts the box in his hands.

“No worries, George.” You say before offering your own name. “Welcome to the firm. I hope you continue to settle in alright.”

“Thank you. Everyone’s been really helpful so far.”

You spot your car ahead and turn to offer him a wave. “Well, if I can help with anything, please let me know; otherwise, have a good evening and see you around, George.”

“Lovely to meet you, and thanks again!” He calls out after you, poorly attempting to offer a wave despite his full arms.

As you start the ignition and drive through the garage, you just catch George rounding a concrete pillar to another car.

You don’t see George open the car’s boot, depositing the box and bag before slamming the top down. You don’t see George reach into the backseat, to the dead body slumped across the backseat like someone sleeping. You don’t see George tuck the borrowed employee badge back into the man’s pocket before sliding into the driver’s seat.

And you definitely don’t hear George make a phone call as he drives off. “Yeah… Leclerc just left, and I’ve made contact.”

1940

“Quel est l’ordre, Lieutenant?”

Charles slows his steps, surveying his assembled platoon of French and Monegasque soldiers as he answers in French. “We’re stopping here for the night.”

Beaufort glares over at Charles. “Stopping here, sir?” He glances around at the splintered remains of the French woodlands, the craters in the earth, and the tree shards that litter everywhere. “I’ll roll over and get a splinter in my ass.”

“Better than up your ass!” Moreau bellows as he laughs at his own jab and a few others join in.

Charles can’t say that he disagrees, but he’s careful to keep the amusement from his face. “Either way, I suggest that you use this last bit of daylight to clear a resting place that won’t result in needing medical aid.”

A low murmur of chuckles and assent rises from his men as they start to settle into the destruction. Other platoons flank them on all sides, making similar encampments as they stretch out among the shattered trees and the growing shadows of twilight that rapidly obscure into darkness.

For days now, they’ve been marching through burned and battered countryside, each ruined village indistinguishable from the next. The Panzers prove relentless in their siege, and the Luftwaffe bombs haven’t helped, either. Charles isn’t a high enough rank to possess a map, but his basic knowledge of the sky from training indicates a steady march in a northwesterly direction.

Fall back to Dunkirk. That’s his command from on high.

He yawns as he continues to survey his men. They number so few now, and the missing faces will haunt the rest of his days. As their commanding officer, he knows every last man in his platoon, but now… only a handful remain. A handful that he is personally responsible for leading out of this hell and into the unknown.

If the Allied Forces are well and truly surrounded, what fresh horrors await them when the enemy finally catches up to them in Dunkirk? Will the British prioritize evacuation of their own troops first? What chance does he stand to ever get back home to Monaco?

But wars are lost on pointless thoughts like that. Thinking so far ahead won’t serve him well in the here and now. He just needs to solve this problem, and then solve the next problem. To stay alive and always keep moving forward.

Someday – when Charles has access to endless alcohol and a real bed – he’ll lose himself to those other dark, destructive musings.

“Merde, that’s an ill wind, isn’t it?” Severin’s voice carries low in the night.

“Sure… like ghosts are riding its wings.” Porcher agrees with a grumble as the sound of a hand slapping thick fabric becomes audible. “But no more of that talk. Between the Jerrys, your ass, and these damnable tree roots, I don’t need any extra help from nightmares for not sleeping.”

Allowing his lips to quirk in the cover of darkness, Charles turns from his men, satisfied that they’re settling in well enough for the night. He slows and steadies his footfalls, not wanting to disturb anyone as he makes his way through the dimly lit landscape.

Moments alone are truly rare, but he can steal a few to relieve himself. Counting his steps to gauge his return, the sounds of men snoring, breathing, talking and coughing fade into the breeze.

True peaceful silence at last.

Charles closes his eyes, indulging it for the space of a breath, before going about his business. His eyes roam skyward, catching glimpses of starlight through the wispy clouds. In his mind’s eye, he imagines the brush strokes to try and capture such splendor on canvas. It makes him long to return to his position at the art institute, to nurture creation instead of destruction. With a sigh, he looks back down to the war-torn ground, righting his uniform and webbing. In truth, it’s better not to dally.

A cigarette is his next order of business. It helps him forget about his toothbrush that went missing during a forward advance some weeks back.

In complete silence, strong, vice-like hands grip his shoulders out of the darkness, throwing Charles off his feet. He hits the ground hard, breath forced from his chest and stealing his voice as plain blooms in the back of his skull. His assailant looms over him, a shapeless shadow that pins him to the ground with effortless ease.

Charles kicks feebly as his vision swims, thrashing to dislodge his attacker and break free from the commanding hold. But the impossibly cold weight above him remains immobile, crushing him into the muddy ground. Surely, this must be another man… but a German soldier? Or possibly a confused Allied soldier?

Icy fingers suddenly claw at the collar of Charles’ uniform, wool and buttons shearing easily as horror creeps into Charles’ rising panic. The dark shadow above him bears down, unbothered by Charles’ desperate attempts to scratch and claw along his back. Twin points of searing pain explode in Charles’ neck as sharp, pointed teeth rip through his skin. A strangled cry rasps in Charles’ throat against the agony as the shape of the attacker’s mouth changes, and he seals his lips to Charles’ skin, supping greedily as he pulls suction.

A new sensation erupts – one of ragged, exquisite pleasure – that mixes with the blinding pain to ebb and flow through his entire body. Charles’ mind overloads at the onslaught as his body grows stiller and more pliant. His pitiful protests become sluggish as a creeping fog eats at the very center of his being. His arms fall to the ground, weakened and motionless as the delicious, terrifying pressure continues on his neck.

And then… only darkness.

Series Main List

[sillygoose067]

Charles’s Angel(s)

Ch.29

Charles Leclerc x Reader

That’s how Charles finds you, nearly an hour later. He leans against the doorframe with his shoulder, arms crossed, a smile playing on his lips. You and his mother had yet to notice his presence, but he preferred it this way. His heart warmed at the sight of you bonding with his mother— One of the most influential and important people in his life. You were laughing with you head thrown back, a few unruly wisps of your hair escaping the elaborate braid you’d styled. Pascale giggled with you, bumping hips with you as you stood side-by-side washing dishes and chopping vegetables. 

He heard you switch the topic of your discussion to what his favorite dishes were, an unknown feeling fluttering around from his stomach, traveling up to his heart, which squeezed almost painfully. His mother was explaining how to prepare the dishes while you listened attentively, a faraway look in your eyes, no doubt mentally storing the information. His already painful heart stutters when Pascale leans forward to kiss your cheek with a watery smile. “I can see why my Perceval is so taken with you. Thank you for assisting me today, none of his past conquests have done that”. She grimaces at the thought. “None of them have taken the time to get to know me, or ask about his favorite preparation… I knew you were different. You’re so good for him— I hope that boy will keep you forever if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Thank you”, she whispers in your ear once again, while embracing you tightly. 

You part from her arms and clasp it. “Of course, Pascale. I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to spend time with an amazing, strong woman like you. And I plan on keeping your son for as long as he’ll have me.”

The long withheld tears in Pascale’s eyes begin to stream down. 

“Oh! Oh no! I didn’t mean to make you cry! Please, what can I do? I’m very sorry!”

You feel her hand come up to caress your cheek. “Nothing my daughter, these are happy tears. Extremely happy tears.”

“Ok, well I um, I just didn’t want your family to think that I made you cry on purpose. They think I’m some attention-seeking whore and hate me enough already”, you mutter under your breathe, but Pascale hears. 

She wipes her eyes as they burn in anger. “Don’t listen to them. I’ll be by your side”. 

Then, as if the universe knew to lighten the mood, the oven’s timer goes off with a ding! And the two of you go back to giggles and reminiscing about the past. 

…

You hear someone clear their throat from the entrance of the kitchen. “Ahem”.

You turn and find a grinning Charles leaning on the doorframe, in a very sexy pose. “Charles! How long have you been here?”

He pushes off the structure and approaches Pascale to kiss her cheek. “Long enough…”

He catches your face flushing. “Don’t worry Chéri, I just came looking for you because you’d been gone so long. I was afraid you’d fled, but when I came to this”, he gestures to you and Pascale. “I was very much relieved and—”

Pascale cuts in, pointing her wooden spoon at him, with a glare on her face. “Charles Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc, if you don’t keep this girl forever and marry her and give me beautiful grandbabies, I will actually disown you and adopt her instead!”

He grins at this. “Ok Maman, but—”

“And you go tell those heathens sitting out there in the dining room that if they don’t clear up their differences with Y/n here ASAP, I will have their heads.”

You stifled a laugh. Charles looks stricken by the sudden change in his mother’s behavior. Nodding as if in a trance, he cautiously moves toward you, as if to not set off his lioness of a mother any further, grabbing your hand and then sprinting towards the door. 

“Woahh—”

You hear Pascale laughing boisterously from the kitchen. 

[cinema-hallucinations]

Prompt: Generate a movie concept for a political thriller set in Quebec city involving a conspiracy surrounding the government's insistence on building the "third link" across the Saint Lawrence river.

Title: Le Pont Noir (The Black Bridge)

Tagline: La vérité est fragile. Le mensonge est mortel. (Truth is fragile. Lies are lethal.)

Logline: In Quebec City, a tenacious investigative journalist, Gabrielle "Gabe" Rousseau, stumbles upon a web of corruption surrounding the proposed "third link" bridge across the Saint Lawrence River. As she delves deeper, she uncovers a conspiracy that threatens not only the fragile environmental balance of the region but also the political future of the province. Now, Gabe must navigate the treacherous waters of Quebec politics, facing off against powerful interest groups and a ruthless opposition leader, all while protecting her sources and exposing the truth before it's too late.

Characters:

Gabrielle "Gabe" Rousseau: A sharp-witted and passionate journalist working for a struggling independent news outlet. Driven by a sense of justice and a love for her city, she becomes the target of powerful forces.

Olivier Dubois: A charismatic but ruthless opposition leader who sees the third link as a political wedge issue. He will stop at nothing to discredit Gabe and derail her investigation.

Marc Tremblay: A seasoned environmental scientist with a wealth of knowledge about the potential ecological damage caused by the bridge project. He becomes Gabe's reluctant ally, fearing for his career and safety.

Michel Beaumont: A jaded but experienced political commentator who serves as Gabe's mentor, offering guidance and a cynical perspective on the workings of Quebec politics.

Léa Leclerc: A mysterious whistleblower within the government who provides Gabe with crucial information about the project's hidden costs and environmental risks.

Plot:

Gabe, known for her hard-hitting investigative pieces, stumbles upon a discrepancy in the official budget for the third link project. As she digs deeper, she discovers evidence of inflated construction contracts, potential environmental violations, and a web of political favors.

Her investigation leads her to Marc Tremblay, an ostracized scientist who has been raising concerns about the impact of the bridge on the delicate ecosystem of the Saint Lawrence River. Tremblay, initially hesitant to speak out for fear of losing his job, is persuaded by Gabe's determination and the urgency of the situation.

Meanwhile, Olivier Dubois, sensing an opportunity to exploit public anxieties and score political points, uses his influence to discredit Gabe and her findings. He paints her as an environmental extremist and accuses her of fabricating evidence. Gabe becomes the target of online harassment and veiled threats, forcing her to operate in the shadows to protect her sources and herself.

With the help of Michel Beaumont, Gabe uncovers a connection between the inflated project costs and a powerful construction company with close ties to both the current government and Olivier Dubois. As she prepares to expose the conspiracy, Léa, the whistleblower, disappears, leaving Gabe with a cryptic message hinting at a deeper threat.

The climax involves a race against time. Gabe, with the help of Marc, must find Léa and expose the truth before the government signs the final contract for the bridge project. The film explores the complex social and environmental issues surrounding large-scale infrastructure development, the power of investigative journalism, and the fight against political corruption.

Themes:

The importance of environmental protection and responsible development.

The power of investigative journalism and the fight for truth.

The corrosive influence of money and corruption in politics.

The fight for a sustainable future and the importance of citizen engagement.

Unique Quebec Setting:

The film will be shot entirely in Quebec City, showcasing the city's iconic landmarks like the Chateau Frontenac and the Parliament Building. The political landscape will be specific to Quebec, with references to the Parti Québécois, the Coalition Avenir Québec, and the ongoing debate about Quebec's sovereignty. The soundtrack can incorporate elements of traditional Québécois music to further immerse the viewers in the local culture.